It was a Hogwarts reunion, and Harry was standing on his own, away from the crowd with a butterbeer in hand. He hadn’t wanted to come, actually, because Ron and Hermione were still away on their honeymoon and Luna was on her Women’s Rights project tour thing that Harry kept forgetting the name of, and he had trouble recognizing anyone’s faces. (Or he didn’t want to.)
He almost contemplated leaving all-together when he suddenly spotted the last person he wanted to see - Draco Malfoy.
Something twisted in his gut.
He hadn’t seen Draco since their last… date? (Could it be called a date? When all they had done was make out and, well, had sloppy handjobs?) That had been almost two years ago.
Before Harry could drop his beer and run, Draco had turned around, his face turning to one of absolute glee - fuck. He’d been spotted.
“Potter!” Draco called, and he quickly made his way through the crowd. The closer he got the angrier Harry felt, because fuck, Draco hadn’t changed at all, just as tall and smug and frankly, the prettiest guy Harry’d had the misfortune to meet. “Fancy that.”
“Draco,” Harry mumbled, tipping his glass forward in a way of saying, cheers, “fancy that.”
Draco was wearing this tight excuse for a jeans, hugging him in all the right places - or the wrong ones, depending on who’d you ask - and his shirt was almost obscene, so small it made Harry want to rip it off. (With his teeth.) And, fuck, he was still so tall, almost four inches taller than he was, and it wasn’t fair, it was as if Draco wanted to rub it in his face that he was better, smarter, sexier than Harry could ever dream to be.
“So,” Draco said after a while of uncomfortable silence, “why did you never floo me?”
Harry whipped his head up to look at him. If he didn’t know any better, it seemed as if Draco was nervous. “What?”
“You never floo’d me.” He grinned, his eyes not cooperating. “We had that date, which had gone pretty well, and you said you’d get in contact, but…”
“Oh.” Harry quickly averted his gaze, his heart in his throat. How to explain to Draco, without sounding like a complete embarrassing idiot, why he’d never had the guts to contact him again?
Draco sighed deeply, leaning against the wall behind them, and Harry wanted to drool at the sight of him but dammit Harry now is not the time - “No need to spare my feelings, Potter, it’s fine -”
“No, no!” Harry took a deep breath, averting his gaze again. It was an embarrassing reason, but Draco deserved to know. Right? “I… look, you were a sex god, alright?”
Draco choked on his laughter, “what?”
“I’m serious.” Harry looked back at him, unable to hide a smile. “You were all legs and smirks and confidence, and - god, it felt thrilling, alright? The date… fuck, Draco,” he shook his head, knowing he was rambling now but he couldn’t help it, not with Draco looking at him like that, “your kiss, it felt like a wet dream come true.”
Draco pushed himself off the wall, his expression unreadable. “Then why didn’t you floo me?”
“Because I..” Harry cleared his throat, averting his eyes again. He wanted to look at Draco, but god, did it hurt. “You looked like that while I’m. Well.” He laughed bitterly, gesturing to himself. “While I look like this. I didn’t understand how you could’ve enjoyed this, other than just to, I don’t know, be able to say that you ‘did it’ with the savior. So I saved myself the trouble of getting my heart broken and -”
Then, suddenly, faster than Harry could call out, Draco had him pinned against the wall - his hands beside Harry’s head, his knee pressed between Harry’s legs and his face so close it was all Harry could see.
“What,” Draco said, no - growled, his eyes almost glowing with anger. “You don’t get to decide how I feel about you, you don’t get to walk away without -”
“Draco,” Harry interrupted, wanting to sound as angry but unable to find the strength because Draco was all around him, and no matter what happened, that still took his breath away. “Don’t -”
“Don’t what, Potter?” Draco’s eyes glinted. “You say you’re not good enough for me?”
“I -” well, yes.
“That you’re not sexy enough for me? That I’ll drop you as soon as I realize that you’re not beautiful enough?”
Harry opened his mouth, only to close it again. Well, yes.
Draco growled again, a sound so deep in his chest that Harry could feel it in his bones. “How dare you,” he threatened, leaning in closer and closer, “you idiot. You are the most infuriatingly dense git I have ever met.” Draco’s eyes were shining, almost mad, and Harry should just walk away but he couldn’t, he was trapped but he wanted to be, because fuck, it was Draco. “You, Potter,” he seethed, “are the most beautiful git I have ever seen.”
Harry shivered. “Draco, don’t -”
“Shut up.” Draco’s face was now so close Harry could feel his breath, could hear his heartbeat. “You don’t get to say how I feel about you, you idiot, not when you are so incredibly wrong. You call me a sex god,” he snorted, “while you look like the bloody sexiest guy I’ve -”
“Draco, please.” Harry felt like he had never been this red in his life. “Stop, I -”
“Stop?” He laughed, almost giddy with anger. “I’m afraid I can’t, sweetheart,” his hands turned to grip Harry’s hair in a tight grip, his hips snapping forward to grind with Harry’s, “not as if my life depended on it.”
Then Draco’s lips were on his, hot and needy and harsh, almost desperate, and Harry’s knees sagged.